June 27, 2013

White Paint

Oh today.
From the moment I left my apartment today it would seem that I was destined to be annoyed. Normally I don’t allow myself to rant, but rant today I must.
I opened the door to leave my apartment and I was surprised to see painters blocking my exit. In a fit of surprise I dodged them and slipped out the door, to the pathway, to the street, on my way to the bus. As I turned onto Hoyne street I looked down and noticed something white on my arm. Weird. I tried to brush it off. It wasn’t coming off. I looked down at my shirt. My skirt. All covered in splotches of white…. what…. PAINT?! How of how did this happen. I turn and run back to my apartment and accost the painter “How did this happen?” He points to the door frame. Oh yes. They had just painted the door frame and in my attempt to sidestep the painters right outside my apartment I ran my entire right side into a fresh coat of white paint.
 I was so upset. I have a lot of skirts, but this was my favorite. This skirt was a splurge from Anthropologie that I wore in my engagement pictures. I have a weird attachment to particular items of clothing. I said to the painter, “Why are there no signs! Why didn’t you warn me?!” No response. I am guessing he didn’t speak English– or at least pretended not to so he didn’t have to deal with my crazy side. I ran into the apartment- my heart was racing. I found Michael in the shower. “Look what happened!” I said in a fit a rage and sadness with my heart racing.
I took my shirt off and threw it under the water of his shower. It didn’t come off. I took of my skirt and threw in under the water. Nothing. I threw them down on the shower floor defeated and walked away. I begin pacing in the living room. I sent an aggressive text to my landlord saying “WHY OH WHY ARE THERE NO SIGNS? I COULD HAVE EXITED A DIFFERENT DOOR.”
Finally, I laid on the black leather couch. The coolness of the leather allowed me to regain my composure. After becoming a reasonable person again I went back to talk to Michael – and there he was, in the shower, naked, picking the white paint off of my favorite black shirt and shirt with his finger nail. He held it up for inspection. “I think I have go most of it out.”
I don’t know if I will be able to wear them again, but he is literally the best human on this planet.

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